


Battle Scars

by takenbyst0rm



Series: Mandothon 2020 [1]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23481145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takenbyst0rm/pseuds/takenbyst0rm
Summary: Cara comes home from a mission with Din, and she and Omera deal with unexpected consequences.
Relationships: Cara Dune/Omera (Star Wars)
Series: Mandothon 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689292
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30
Collections: The Mandalorian Ficathon — April 2020





	Battle Scars

**Author's Note:**

> For the Mandothon 2020 Day 1 prompt Battle Scars, and my first post to AO3!!! I chose the nsfw prompt but got derailed into sfw territory. Basically, I love women and soup and this is what happened ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Cara let herself have this moment, one foot through Omera’s door, one shoulder leaning against the frame. She’d stopped to hear the mindless melody Omera hummed as she busied herself with a myriad of ingredients for stew. Cara marked her sleeves rolled past her elbow, the swirl of her skirt as she turned on her heel, disappearing further into the kitchen to fetch something she had forgotten. When Cara rounded the kitchen doorway, Omera was still busy, oblivious, a cabinet door obscuring her face as she reached in.

Cara cleared her throat, not wanting to startle her partner, and Omera leaned around the cabinet door, arms full of spices and eyes crinkled with a hidden smile.

“A little help?” she offered.

Cara crossed the cramped kitchen in two steps, stopping behind Omera to peer into the cabinet while Omera attempted to squeeze past in the opposite direction. Cara’s eyes strayed from the shelves, and she tried to think straight as the soft-smelling oils Omera used in her hair filled her lungs. 

“Is there something specific you need?” Cara asked as Omera tossed powders and leaves into the cooking pot seemingly at random. The steam from the pot collected on her forehead, as if it wasn’t already swelteringly humid on this planet, and Cara absentmindedly watched a bead of condensation slip down from her hair before Omera looked up.

“Yes--here--let me show you,” Omera answered even as she began slicing slivers of some kind of knobbly root into the boiling water. It only made the scent in the room headier. Cara went to her and smoothed a thumb over the edge of Omera’s pursed brow. 

“Where’s Winta?”

Omera glanced at her, the corner of her mouth quirking upward before she reached for a bundle of herbs, picking the leaves off. “Outside still. She won’t even come in when the sun sets anymore, but who can blame her? On a day like this.”

“Hmm.” Cara leaned her hip against the countertop.

This time when Omera looked up, she caught Cara’s raised eyebrow and held her gaze until she set the herbs aside and her face broke into a smile warmer than any Sorgan summer. Putting a hand on Cara’s waist, Omera leaned in to welcome her home. Cara turned her face to the side--“I thought you were going to show me where--” but Omera shut her up before her tongue-in-cheek comment was out. 

Cara swallowed her laugh and pushed off the counter to wrap her arms around Omera, to bury her nose in her hair and her fingertips into the back of her smock. Kissing the baby hairs stuck to her forehead and feeling Omera’s hot breath between lingering kisses along her neck. Closing her eyes, Cara felt the tensest spots in her shoulders relax under her wandering hands.

Omera pulled back, leaving Cara in a haze. She zoned in on Omera’s collarbone as Omera collected her hair, holding it above her head to wipe at the sweat on her neck with a cloth conjured from somewhere behind Cara.

“So--” Omera began.

“Bed?”

Omera barely held back a snort, tossing the dishrag back over Cara’s shoulder. “First, the thing I need you to get.” She walked past Cara to shut the forgotten cabinet door. “The vase, on top of the cabinet.” 

When Cara shot her an incredulous look, Omera extended a hand, not even bothering to get on her tiptoes, and barely brushed the top of the cabinet door. “Don’t want to risk breaking it,” she shrugged.

Cara looked up--it was a beautifully painted vase. Elegantly sculpted from Sorgan clay and definitely fragile. Cara looked back at Omera, and stepped forward as she had before, bracing one arm on the counter on one side of her, and reaching up with the other.

“If you wanted me to kiss you against the wall, you could have just--” Cara stopped short, sucking air through her teeth, pain ripping from a spot between her ribs. She drew her hand back to press it to her side, where Omera’s immediately covered it.

“Shit--” Cara tried to remember where they stashed the med kit.

“Cara--how--?” Omera reached for the rag again, alarm spreading across her face at the blood that had seeped through Cara’s hand to hers. She stopped Cara from running off with a glare as she doused the rag in alcohol. 

“Didn’t realize--It’s nothing--” Cara panted as Omera gingerly pulled and lifted her shirt, “Din stitched me up. Should’ve been right as rain.” Omera finally got a good look at what appeared to be a scrap of Din’s cape secured with the same tape that held together the rickediest parts of the Razor Crest. Looking at it now, in the fading light of Omera’s tiny kitchen window, it didn’t appear nearly as impressive as Cara had thought on the ship. 

Cara took the rag from Omera, if only to attempt to cover Din’s hasty handiwork as she peeled the tape from her skin where the humidity had worked its way through the seal. Omera let out her breath slowly upon seeing the graze across her torso. She hadn’t sidestepped fast enough.

“Oh. That’s why he’s not here, isn’t it...Cara?” Omera laid a hand on Cara’s wrist where she dabbed at the frayed stitching. 

“He’s fine. Didn’t check the med supply before we left--the window to contact our informant was too narrow.” Their excursions were bound to go south. The only starting point was with anyone who had managed to survive knowing how the kid ended up in that encampment. Imperial intelligence. Chasing rumors of a rumor. Traps worth springing if they could make any progress. “He’ll be back fully stocked--bacta spray--all the good stuff.” Cara managed a small smile.

Omera nodded and left the room, discarding the makeshift bandage on her way out. Cara snagged the bottle of alcohol, glanced at the label, and took a swig before blotting the rag again. Omera returned with the med kit.

“I can do it,” Cara insisted, grabbing the bottle as Omera led her to a chair in the next room. 

“Pot’s probably gonna boil over,” she continued while Omera cut thread and flame-sterilized a needle. “Should’ve done it myself on the ship, but Din wouldn’t hand over the damn thing...” Cara’s protest faded under Omera’s gaze. She could have sworn that even though she hadn’t seen it, Din’s expression had been the same.

Cara leaned back in the chair with a grunt, listening to the water bubble in the kitchen. Omera got back to humming as she worked.

“You should change your shirt before Winta gets back,” Omera suggested, patting medical tape securely to her skin. Cara stood and stretched, testing the bonds of the bandage. She winced at the fresh suture, but was otherwise satisfied. 

When Omera moved to clean up, Cara caught her hand, but stopped short, unsure of what she meant to say. She knew that their missions couldn’t be making life easier for Omera, but also that their relationship couldn’t be built on apologizing for it. Omera squeezed her hand, pulling her in to kiss the tattoo on her cheek. 

“Shame that most of the scars that mark us represent moments we’d like to forget. Should try to even the score.” Cara rested her head on Omera’s shoulder, tilting her head to mouth at her neck and murmured, “Can start here, but I don’t know if you want to explain that to Winta.” Omera ran her fingers through Cara’s hair and laughed softly, muttering something about how she wouldn’t mind.

When Cara returned freshly clothed, she saw the vase sitting on the table where the med kit had been. The smell of the stew settled in the pit of her stomach, made her mouth water. It dawned on her how long it had been since she ate something that hadn’t been dehydrated.

As Cara turned the corner into the kitchen, she found Omera reaching into her bowl to pop a whole krill into her mouth. She grinned unabashedly when she caught Cara’s eye. 

Cara walked past and outside to hang out her old shirt, stain scrubbed away, but before she could cross the threshold, Winta slammed into her (her good side, thank the stars). She saw the kid peeking out from her backpack. Winta stepped back to look up at Cara in confusion, and then with a laugh, threw her arms around her again. Cara barely had time to hug her in return before she was off to the kitchen. She heard Omera exclaim in surprise before she continued out to put her shirt on the line.

Cara could barely wait to gulp down some dinner, and as she ladled herself a bowlful, she noticed between Omera and Winta, the vase on the table was filled with flowers.


End file.
